


Unbind Me

by crossroadswrite



Series: _____ Me [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek Hale, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergece, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Angst with a Happy Ending, Body Dysphoria, Established Relationship, Future Fic, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Not for long tho, Omega Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, mentions very very brief of Past Kate Argent/Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 20:11:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4933672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Derek is a born omega but has a body of an alpha and everything feels wrong. Luckily he has Stiles who will find a way to fix it, or so he promises.<br/>.<br/>“Derek,” Stiles says very carefully, walking into the tiny bathroom in Derek’s new loft. “Derek are you alright?”</p>
<p>Derek glares at his reflection in the mirror and hates.</p>
<p>He’s never been your typical cookie cut from a magazine omega but he’s never been this- this wrong. It’s just so fucking wrong he hates himself even more every time he glances at his reflection.</p>
<p>“Fine,” he growls low and menacingly and filled with power. He can bend will with this voice and he hates it. He thinks it’s fucking disgusting because this is an alpha thing and Derek isn’t an alpha. Derek has never been an alpha that’s not his gender and it’s wrong.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unbind Me

Derek’s never been your typical omega.

Well, your typical omega is maybe not the right way to put it since typically omegas aren’t werewolves. Typically most of the population aren’t werewolves.

He was born an outlier.

When he says ‘not your typical omega’ he doesn’t mean personality wise either because he knows that the _all_ _omegas are meek submissive little things_ train of thought is the biggest crock of shit that anyone ever threw up. Omegas are people and people can have whatever the hell personality they want.

Or well, are conditioned to have during their formative years.

_What he means is_ he’s never really hit all the omega landmarks, he never got offered random shit just because he smelled pretty, he never woke up one day and thought holy shit I’m an omega what the fuck or even I want that alpha to shove their dick in me so hard my ancestors feel it, he never went into heat or pseudo-heats during his early teens.

That, the heats, only happened to him when he was seventeen and he doesn’t like talking about it.

He doesn’t like talking about Kate Argent and fire.

She had been an Alpha, which Derek wasn’t even normally attracted to, he usually preferred other omegas like himself even if other omegas didn’t prefer him.

So she had been an Alpha and he had been in heat and disgustingly there’s something about heats that make Omegas more susceptible to alphas even if they’re not attracted to them.

“Derek,” Stiles says very carefully, walking into the tiny bathroom in Derek’s new loft. “Derek are you alright?”

Derek glares at his reflection in the mirror and _hates_.

He’s never been your typical cookie cut from a magazine omega but he’s never been _this_ \- this wrong. It’s just so fucking wrong he hates himself even more every time he glances at his reflection.

“Fine,” he growls low and menacingly and filled with power. He can bend will with this voice and he hates it. He thinks it’s fucking disgusting because this is an _alpha_ thing and Derek isn’t an alpha. Derek has never been an alpha that’s not his gender and it’s wrong.

He’s not supposed to be able to put power in his voice like this, he’s not supposed to have this many muscles piled over his bones, like the beast is trying to escape by inflating him.

He’s not supposed to have a fucking _knot_. He’s not supposed to stop going into heats, he’s not supposed to not be able to slick himself, he’s not supposed to he’s not supposed to he’s not supposed to he’s not supposed to.

Derek’s been wrong since the day he ripped his uncle’s throat out.

He’s selfish enough to wish back then he had let Scott do it for him, he’s almost selfish enough to wish he had never tried to stop his uncle in the first place and just let him keep on murdering people, keep on biting people until half of Beacon Hills was his personal army, until hunters arrived to slaughter the innocent children his uncle had turned.

It’s a horrible thought to have.

Stiles cool fingers touch his shoulder and he flinches.

That’s another thing he hates. How his body runs warmer than it should. He misses being able to walk around in a sweater and not feel like his skin was about to melt and side off his muscles like overused tape.

“Derek,” Stiles says quietly and his voice breaks.

Another reason to hate himself is what he’s doing to the people around him. The people he _cares for_.

“What,” he snaps.

On his ever growing list of things he hates there’s this too. How aggressive and on the razor edge of violence he seems to constantly be on.

He knows it’s not like this for most alphas. He knows that his omega nature and his werewolf status are warring inside him and making a mess of his chemical balance.

Stiles sighs and steps in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror.

“You need to stop doing this.”

Derek bares his teeth.

Stiles reaches and takes his jaw in his hands, careful and soft, pulls his face down and places a soft kiss on his lips.

“Derek you need to stop doing this.”

“I can’t, it’s-“

“I know, I know babe.”

Omegas smell sweet.

It’s a primal thing, a mating call or whatever. Omegas smell sweet like candy.

Stiles often smells like caramel and soda pop and something light and flowery.

Derek used to smell like apple pie and hot chocolate and like lilacs, now he smells disgustingly like damp earth and pine and just a hint of blood.

It’s revolting. He wastes soap bar after soap bar trying to wash it off.

“Come to bed.”

“I don’t want to-“

“We’re not going to. I wouldn’t, you know that.”

Derek sighs and curls on himself until he can rest his forehead on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I know.”

He hates that he has to load Stiles with this too. He hates that he’s not strong enough to carry it all by himself.

“Come to bed,” Stiles says again, still soft like he hardly ever is.

This time Derek follows and lets Stiles lay him down, lets Stiles tuck him under his chin and wrap Derek up in his arms like Derek didn’t impossibly grow two inches taller with his alpha transformation.

Derek sighs.

“I’ll fix it. Promise, I’ll fix it,” Stiles whispers very quietly.

Derek closes his eyes and lets himself pretend.

«»

He’s not a good alpha to his betas. He doesn’t even try to pretend he’s a good alpha to his betas.

He fucks it up over and over and over again.

Derek is failing at being both an omega and alpha werewolf.

He misses Laura, she would be able to handle this.

«»

Stiles doesn’t tell Derek what he’s supposedly doing to fix it.

Sometimes he disappears for days at a time and comes back thinner with bruises that seem to have been permanently beaten under his eyes. He always smiles at Derek and tells him he’s getting closer.

Derek worries.

He doesn’t tell him to stop until the first time Stiles passes out from exhaustion.

«»

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had let me kill Peter,” Scott says spitefully, childishly.

Derek presses Stiles’ hand to his lips and worriedly watches over him. He’s so still, he’s never this still.

He’s been asleep for over a day, already edging on the second.

They can’t wake him up and Deaton is out of the state and not picking up his phone.

Stiles had left a note saying that if anything happened to him it would only get worse if they got him to a hospital and no one knows if it’s true or not but no one wants to risk it.

“I agree,” he says and that seems to shock Scott quiet.

“What he’s doing for you, it’s killing him.”

“I asked him to stop. I begged him to stop. He won’t and I don’t know what he’s doing or where he disappears to to be able to stop him.”

“We need to do something.”

“I know.”

Erica walks in the room, worrying her bottom lip and throwing a worried look at Stiles, anxious.

“Deaton says he’ll be back tomorrow morning. He told us not to take him to the hospital.”

Derek looks at her, raising his eyes from Stiles’ sleeping form for what’s probably the first time in hours.

“Deaton knows what Stiles is trying to do?”

She twists her lips and nods.

Derek squints, curls his lip over his teeth. He’d been too worried to notice. He’d been too wrapped around himself to notice.

“ _You_ know what he’s doing.” It’s a statement. The nervous flutter in Erica’s heartbeat when he had asked if Deaton knew what Stiles was attempting giving her away.

“I don’t-“

“Tell me,” he growls, puts all the alpha power he can gather into his voice and almost gags with it.

“He’s trying to find a replacement alpha. So you won’t have to do it,” she blurts out, face twisting in anger.

Derek doesn’t have time for that now.

“Who? Tell me who.”

Erica snarls. She hates being told what to do, she hates when Derek alphas her but he needs to right now. _It’s Stiles he needs to._

“I don’t know. Ask Lydia.”

Derek looks over at Scott and he nods, oddly compliant. “On it. I’ll get her.”

«»

He growls and roars and yells and threatens.

Lydia blinks at him, the corner of her mouth twisted in distaste. “I’m not letting you ruin what Stiles worked so hard to do.”

“It’s _hurting him_ ,” he hisses, uncomprehending how Lydia can be so calm when Stiles could be dying in the next room.

“It’s not like he’s _dying_. Magic takes a lot out of your body.”

“Magic?” he says slowly, eyebrows climbing up. “Tell me.”

“No.”

He shifts and he growls and the only response he gets is a raised eyebrow.

“That would work if I knew for a fact you weren’t going to hurt me.”

“You sound really sure of that.”

“I am. You won’t hurt me.”

Derek takes a threatening step towards her and stretches to his full height, postures and feels like he’s stretching his skin too wide.

“You won’t hurt me because it would upset Stiles.”

Derek wouldn’t hurt her either way, _not really_ , and the fact that she has something to justify why he won’t makes this an exercise in pointlessness.

He backs off.

“He’ll be okay?”

“He’ll be just fine.”

«»

Stiles wakes up with a gasp and promptly starts coughing up blood.

Derek rushes to his side, one hand on the back of his neck, pulling away the pain even though there doesn’t seem to be any.

“Okay,” Stiles wheezes. “Okay don’t freak out,” he says and then he starts explaining about how he found a way to take Derek’s alpha powers away and about digging up his sister.

Derek suitably freaks out.

«»

It involves blood. A lot of Stiles’ and even more of Derek’s. Also some other things Derek doesn’t completely feel comfortable with and would like to wipe off his mind.

By the end of it Stiles is swaying from side to side, looking ready to collapse and Derek has lost all of his strength, splaying on the ground by his sister’s grave.

“It’s done,” Stiles declares like some kind of overpowered magician in a thriller, and then falls to his knees.

“Did it work?” he asks, half afraid of the answer, eyes resolutely turned to the night sky.

Erica, Boyd and Isaac edge closer from where they had been waiting at a safe distance.

Isaac kneels over Laura’s grave and presses his hear to the ground. They all go very quiet, breaths held.

If he could he would do it himself but right now Derek feels like everything is very far away, floating in cotton or whatever other overplayed comparison is adequate to this situation. He doesn’t know, he can’t think.

Isaac is the one with the best hearing after him.

“I hear something. Boyd help me with this.”

After about five minutes of digging a hand punches through the earth and his sister digs herself out of her grave, taking deep lungfuls of air.

Her eyes flash red and Derek feels like he can finally breathe again, his chest expanding with relief, his mind feeling lighter and right.

The power whiplash is going to be a bitch for the next weeks though.

Laura looks down at Derek and blinks. “Jesus little brother, you look like shit.”

Derek laughs, a startled little thing that claws its way out of his throat.

“I’m starving,” Laura sighs and sits on Derek’s stomach, making him huff out a breath.

His pack – Laura’s pack – take a step back as one.

“Not for brains, idiots. For like. A cheeseburger. I want five cheeseburgers. Someone better get me in a diner in the next ten minutes before I start clawing bitches.”

Derek reaches out and pulls Laura down, hugs her tightly to his chest until he feels like he can let go again and she won’t disappear into smoke.

It’s a long, long time before he lets go.

«»

It’s rough the next month or so.

Laura is recovering from being dead, slowly getting to know this new pack that was thrust upon her and trying to sort all of her legal documentation.

Stiles is very slowly recovering from bringing someone whom had been torn apart back from the death with heavy duty, most likely dangerous and forbidden magic.

Derek is the one better off of the three of them, adjusting to the power shift well, feeling right, after so much time he finally feels right in his own skin, even though his body seems to be trying to catch up on all the time lost by putting him through a heat so intense Stiles almost takes him to the hospital after the fifth day without it breaking.

It’s a slow thing, their collective recovery but something feels like it’s slotting into place, the pack is finally starting to feel like a real pack under the leadership of a real alpha, so much so that Scott finally officially joined, and they’re at contractual peace with the Argents, and there’s even noise from Jackson’s end about coming back from London.

Laura throws a hand over Derek’s shoulder three days after Derek’s heat breaks and presses their cheeks together, scent marks him a little bit like she started doing when she was four and Derek was just a tiny little bundle of a thing.

“This one is a keeper, Der,” she whispers in his ear, low enough that the pack’s sensitive hearing won’t catch it.

“Yeah,” he says, looking over at where Stiles is leaning across the counter, lips pursed to keep his spaghetti moustache in place. “Yeah, I know.”

Laura pulls back and ruffles his hair.

“You look better, little brother. I’m glad.”

“You look better too.”

She smirks. “Coming back from the death does wonders for your skin apparently.

«»

He wears soft Henley’s as much as possible, and he rubs his scent against Stiles’ every chance he’s got now that his scent is back to its original sweetness. He has sex with Stiles, without the disgusting knot in the way, more than he wears Henley’s but less than scent marking Stiles.

He shouts and eagerly waits for people to tell him to fuck off, not obeying him in the slightest.

His body softens, becoming more malleable (even putty in Stiles’ hands), lighter, and it’s like he fits in his skin again. He’s roughly the same height as Stiles now and he loves it.

“Hey watchu doin’?” Stiles asks, sliding up behind Derek and hooking his chin over Derek’s shoulder like it’s nothing, like everything between them was always as easy as casual, gentle touches. “You alright?”

“I’m fine,” he assures, placing his hands over where Stiles rest on his stomach.

Stiles places a very careful kiss to his shoulder and hums into Derek’s skin.

“Come to bed?” Stiles asks, looking Derek in the eye through their dingy bathroom mirror.

Derek twists in his arms and kisses him, makes it as slow as he can, savoring soda pop and caramel on his tongue, one hand trailing down Stiles’ spine and feeling every fragile knob of it before he settles it on his ass.

“Sounds good,” he mutters against Stiles’ lips, not wanting to part yet, just not yet.

Stiles breaths something that tastes like a laugh against Derek’s mouth and twists out of his grip, lacing his fingers with Derek’s and tugging him to the bedroom.

Derek lets himself be pulled and lets Stiles lay him down and then stretch on top of Derek like a lazy cat, lips reaching for Derek’s and offering sweetness.

He takes it, kisses him slow and kisses him messy and kisses him until Stiles stops and laughs against the crook of his neck, spilling happiness out of his pores like a cracked dam.

Derek can’t help but roll him over, nip at his nose playfully before he kisses the laughter right out of him, the sense of rightness settling in the pit of his stomach definitely and permanently.

He’s what he’s supposed to be and with who he’s supposed to be. He loves and is loved and that thought gives him such a thrill he has to pull back, trace the words with the tips of his finger into Stiles’ cheeks over and over and over, not stopping until Stiles flips them and returns the playful bite.

“Yeah, yeah I get it idiot,” Stiles laughs. “You don’t need to spell it out for me.”

Derek cups his cheek and pulls him down against his lips, stops spelling it out and says it quiet and intimate, just for Stiles, “I love you.”

Stiles gives him the quiet, happy smile and whispers it back into Derek’s mouth, moves on top of him in a way that seems like he’s trying to carve the words into Derek’s skin and Derek was never a believer that there could be moments of complete and utter happiness.

It’s good to know that in this too Stiles will constantly prove him wrong.

**Author's Note:**

> if you want me to take a prompt that could've been light hearted and fun and turn it into come roll into the endless void with me [here](http://crossroadswrite.tumblr.com)


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